


Since Eighteen

by ObfuscatedEvanesce



Category: Sense8 (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gen, M/M, Tagging as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-05 22:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12198231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObfuscatedEvanesce/pseuds/ObfuscatedEvanesce
Summary: Their pain and their struggles can't be weathered alone. They are connected, after all. Let the bonds they forge bear the brunt of life so they, themselves won't break.





	1. Bird and Worm

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tagging as I go. As mentioned in those tags, this is a Dead Dove, but I also hate spoilers, so if any of the archive warnings bother you, feel free to skip this. I have plans to make this one brutal, so the rating will go up as content is added. Gotta stretch my boundaries.

Rain descends softly, pattering against the window. The afternoon sun peeks around parted clouds, only to hide in the sky once more. There’s a chill that permeates the bedroom, but together, they exchange a comfortable heat. Nolan sits with him at the foot of the bed, knees drawn up to his chest. His nightshirt envelops his fingers as he plays videogames, the controller clicks mingling with the rain.

They play in silence.

It makes Nolan hyperaware of himself. The way he breathes with his mouth parted. The carpet between his toes. The thump in his chest. His hands shaking.

Staring intently at the television screen, Gabe has been wearing the same evil smirk since they started. Nolan sees it without looking. Knows it’s there because it’s always there. He tries to stay calm, to remain unaffected, but –

Gabe edges closer. Shoulders bump.

His lips tighten into a flat line.

“Stop running. I’m gonna catch you eventually.”

Eyes glued to the screen, Nolan stills himself and focuses. Rigid. Unwelcoming. Gabe searches his face, grinning wide, but finds no reaction.  

Nolan wants to stand and fight. Hold his ground. Go toe-to-toe with Gabe and come out on top. But Gabe wins every time, with hardly any contest. Thus, Nolan flees. It’s all he knows to do now, and at least that’s surviving.

“Maybe. But you haven’t caught me yet.”

* * *

 

“It’s okay if you’d rather not talk about it. How about we talk about something else instead?”

His bloodshot eyes stain the freckles dotting his nose. The sleeve that wipes his face swallows his clenched fist.

“Tell me about the last good day you’ve had. Describe it, and be specific.”

He can remember plenty of good days, but they’ve all been tainted now. Something metastasized and it’s eating away at all his memories.

“L-last Friday. I was… heading home from school. I had baseball practice, but I blew it off. Got home. Did some homework. Went to sleep.”

“Why does this stand out as a good day to you?”

His chin rests against his knees as he breaks eye contact. He’s not thinking of an answer; he already knows it by heart. Yet the moment is taken anyway, to draw in breath after breath, and deliver a reasonable answer.

“It felt normal.”

“Feeling isolated and alone is completely normal. Humans are social creatures. We thrive best when our need for contact is met. It’s fine to enjoy being alone from time to time, but not at the cost of feeling lonely.”

“The voices used to say the same thing,” his eyes dart from hers back to his knees.

“When did they stop?”

This time, he really doesn’t know.

They always send him home with a cocktail of drugs, none of which he ever takes. He doesn’t flush it all at once. He’s tried that and, of course, was immediately found out. It only made him smarter about it now.

He’s not sick. The voices told him so.

He fills the cup, drops the pills in the sink’s hole, and tips the stale water back.

“Hey kiddo. Gabe called, wanted you to come over.”

Hard gulps, the whole cup. He tosses it into the bin.

“You guys hardly hang anymore. I think he misses you.”

“You just want the house to yourself.” It’s dry and accusatory, but it was meant to be a joke. A sullen air clings to him as he pushes past his sister, but her two hands stop him. Studies his face with an unreadable expression.

“If you don’t want to go, that’s fine. Tell him that.” Nolan’s not sure why it bothers him. Her happiness is brittle, corroded by steady exhaustion.

He’s a tick sapping away the life around him.

Slowly, he wraps his arms around her. He should be trembling, but a hollow calm stills him.

“I’ll go.”

* * *

 

Curling sweet promises, thin and fragile, suffuses in tender dance. Tacky lights and steady rhythm pulsate. Dense with the scent of sweat and alcohol, and of all things, apples, the air weighs heavy in Theo’s lungs. But a sweet smile graces his lips, eyes bright and hopeful. Steady like music rocking his bones.

“Of course! That’s no problem at all… As long as you hold up your end of the deal,” he says, face full of optimism and childish ease.

The older man lets smoke writhe in his open mouth as he sizes up the kid. The golden boy. The rumor mill conjured this one up, and unsurprisingly, Peter has his reservations. He’s young. Careless. That type of narcissism leads to failures, and he’s not particular about those. However… as far as resume’s go, this one’s impressive.

He snuffs the cigar and exhales.

“Look, kid. I’d love to hire you. But this business is… precise. I appreciate the gumption, but I’m going to get someone a little more –“

With confident deliberation, Theo draws an artifact from his hoodie, slowly, so as not to piss off the bodyguards. He hears the hitch in the man’s heartbeat and something turns dangerous in Theo’s glow.

“That’s a shame. I already took the liberty of starting.”

Claws scatter across the table like rolling dice. The image of incredulous apprehension fills Theo with absolute glee as Peter unravels.

“How the hell did you get these?” Shock. Anger. Glee.

“Who cares? Just pay me when you get the rest.”

Now, he’s surrounded by steel blue glares and gold fire burning through him. They are piranhas swarming the bait. All he has to do is bleed.

He keeps calm. His demeanor warm and inviting.

“…Impressive, I’ll admit,” Peter says, composing himself. “But I must warn you, this is a dark and dangerous path. It’d be a travesty to waste such beautiful youth. In jail.”

The smile fades. The brightness quelched into a cold and lethal edge.

“Let’s not pretend like that’s even an option for me. So. Deal?” Hand outstretched, Theo waits expectantly.

Peter seems to contemplate the implication. The face Theo wears now is that of an accomplished killer; he has seen it a thousand times. Rarely does it ever end well for these types of people, but that’s exactly the sort of thing people like himself count on. When it all turns south, it won’t be him taking the fall.

Peter shakes, meets Theo with a contrite smirk, “Pleasure.”

The corners of Theos lips pull, satisfied. The beam is back as he stands up and leaves, not before clasping a bodyguard on the shoulder and happily exclaiming,

“We’re in business!”


	2. By Tomorrow

He’s lying there in the rats’ nest, completely void of thought or emotion, a grungy hell-hole of spray painted and peeling walls. Of stale piss and dry blood. Of loose trash and shredded mattress. He almost thinks he’s sleep, but the steady drip of water on the concrete brings him in the moment. It’s off beat. Arrhythmic with his own.

He no longer dreams, which comes as a relief nowadays. But the memories he’s buried come clawing their way to the surface, one droplet at a time. Washing away the dirt and the numbness. Panic rising, he becomes painfully aware.

Theo jolts awake, screaming in pain as he’s being electrocuted. His muscles convulse, contracting of their own accord, the disobedient bastards. Suddenly, he’s pushed out and it no longer hurts, but still, there’s screaming. Not his own. Though it should be.

It’s a different nest, a different lair. Clean. Professional. Soundproof. Weapons decorate the walls; medicine sits, neatly labeled, in shelves. Chains, a steel table, and a generator harbor in the corner where the kid lies. A woman in a white lab coat turns down the dial and jots something down on a clipboard.

He recognizes the kid.

He looks on in pity as the woman sets the voltage higher.

“Hey.”

The reaction doesn’t surprise him. His presence alone makes this worse for the kid. He’d been handling it well enough on his own, but Theo’s not stupid. If he’s here, it’s because the kid dragged him here.

Before the woman even sends the next wave in, Liam roars, full fangs and gold eyes.

Theo kneels next to Liam, ignoring the startled broad.

“Fuck off!”

His fingers glide soft against his skin, tender against the thrashing werewolf.

“Let me help you.”

Another roar and he’s blasted back to the rats’ nest. No woman in white. No kid strapped to a metal table. No pain. Just the stench of piss and dried blood permeating the thin sheets.

For a brief moment, Theo felt something. But as he lies there, dejected, numbness swarms his body like tiny ants marching through his blood vessels, from the tips of his toes to the tips of his fingers.   

He could Visit anyone he wanted. Except, the only one he wanted to.

Flurries of motion and best laid plans, he hears them all through the night. They’re a mess of desperation and despair. It’s pathetic. And very distracting.

They need him.

He doesn’t care.

Let them struggle.

He shoots up out of bed and throws on last night’s clothes in a hurry. Normally, he’d be able to shut them out of his head. With remarkable ease. But after what he just saw, he wouldn’t be getting any sleep anyway. Not until he knows, without a doubt…

“Go away. Theo.”

Her voice is like strawberries, delicate and sweet, frozen with apathy as she surveys the room. Theo knows she’s not really here, not in the park in the middle of the day. Where the sunlight pours off every tree, painting them deep green and light gold. Where the wind carries shifting leaves and dandelions and darting birds along its breeze. Where mothers and fathers and children convene just to enjoy each other’s company. It’s open and free and fresh and she’s not here because she’s where Theo needs to be.

“What do you see? Describe everything, I might be able to help.”

“We don’t need you. Go away.”

At that, he scoffs a smile and shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything for a while, merely taking in the surroundings as he stalks uncomfortably close. A group of students play frisbee out on the field, and on more than one occasion, bikers pass right through him. He feels Lydia’s growing discomfort with his presence, but something else, something far off, catches his attention.

“Seriously. Leave. You’re distracting.”

He can’t tell exactly where – who it’s coming from, but it’s the kind of vibe he gets when someone’s trying to hide from the others.

His brows furrow.

No one hides from Theo.

* * *

 

A deep breath. Two.

Gabe’s house sits on the corner, gaping like a starving ghost. As he passes the threshold, he feels his soul extricate from his body, a silent violence. A moment to take it in. The wooden post he cleaves to. The hanging plant beckoning soft touch. The heavy wooden door ornate with an august wreath. To his right, he catches a glimpse of the swing bench and the very sight stings. He curls his fingers into a tight fist. Bites his lip to still the tremor.

The knock comes in three. Then, a single stretching silence.

“Nolan! You didn’t call. I didn’t think you were coming.”

Gabe ushers him in and the mouth finally devours him whole. 

“Kala guilt tripped me into coming here, what with you being alone and all…,” he mumbles. A hand massages the back of his neck, but it does nothing to chase the tension away.

Gabe punches him in the shoulder, smiling, “You’re a terrible friend.”

It’s an average afternoon between them, a cycle of homework, television, and videogames. Gabe somehow finds conversation easy with Nolan despite his habit of stuttering out broken and truncated sentences. Gabe fills the silence, floods the house with the sound of his own voice, hoping Nolan could just float along with him. Validate his existence.

Nolan can’t quite empathize with what it’s like to have no one supporting him.

In part, he blames them for this.

Nolan sits on Gabe’s bed, comfortably in his pajamas, while he watches Gabe play Destiny. He notices the stolen glance, sans the slight smile Gabe usually wears. He knows the question’s coming before it’s even asked.

“How’s therapy? Are you doing alright?”

It’s the kind of question that has only one answer. It’s the kind of question that asks him to lie, or at least pretend that’s it true. He wants to be. Maybe if he keeps at it, he really will.

“Yeah, it’s whatever. It’s just an hour of talking. Nothing spectacular.”

“Is that… enough? You’re still kind of spacey,” he chomps a handful of popcorn, not caring where the crumbs land, and gives him a fleeting glance.

Nolan rubs soft circles into his kneecaps, draws his knees closer.

“I could talk to you for an hour.  Hell, that’d save like, a hundred bucks,” he says, then drops his voice into a purr, turning now, giving Nolan his full attention, “If that’s all you need.”

Nolan can’t help but bark out a laugh, “Shut. Up.”

It’s genuine. It’s dangerous.  

“Seriously. I’m here. You avoid me, and I don’t know why. But I’m still here.”

He’s absorbed in his game again, but Nolan can still feel all his attention. With nothing but his presence and affection, Gabe reaches out for him. It’s the kind of touch Nolan has been running away from. Tender and loving. He’s unprepared for everything that comes with it. And all that falls away after.

 “I…m sorry.”

He’s a fish gulping air, gasping for the right words.

“You never thought I was crazy.”

“No, I always thought you were crazy, dude,” he says smirking again, “It just never mattered to me.”

“That’s fucked up,” Nolan laughs.

Gabe doesn’t bother trying to cover his tracks. He sticks to his words, no matter how callous or cruel they seem. If he says it, he means it.

“You had a few extra friends. I can’t be jealous of that, besides –“ and here is the ledge he had been arriving to. A truth he had always felt, but never wanted to admit. That maybe, he alone wasn’t enough.

“At least you were happy.”

Comforting words don’t come easy to Nolan. His stomach twists into knots as if it could generate the right things to say in the moment. All that he’s left with is a burning throat and the need to dry heave.

“I’m,” he stutters to halt. Not for lack of thought or his general displeasure at talking about himself, rather, his eyes widen and he feels a tingling sensation shoot through his arms and spread throughout his body.

Suddenly, he can’t breathe or scream. His muscles lock and his whole body ignites. Fire and searing blood mingle as he feels every tendon and every muscle clamping down on himself, stubborn and vicious. He silently begs for it all to stop, for please, please, please obey his intent and just relax. But his body vehemently disobeys. 

Gabe’s on top of him, screaming, “Nolan! Nolan!” trying to figure out what to do. He scrambles, looking for his cellphone, but he finds Nolan’s first. He fumbles with the locks screen, then tosses it with a loud, “Fuck!” after failing.

Nolan can hear the roar clearly in his head. He can hear faint whispers but the words slip through this fingers like sand. Gabe’s room flickers, transforming, for the merest of moments, into some place he vaguely remembers. Someone being held hostage, much like himself in his own body.

When it’s finally over, Nolan releases a gasping, sobbing scream. What amounted to a blip in time felt like an eternity in hell.  Tears roll down his cheeks as he tries to parse happened. His muscles burn as if he’s torn every single one. He keeps mumbling, “What the hell?” as he stretches each limb experimentally.

Gabe drops his phone and rushes over to Nolan’s side.

“Holy shit! Nolan are you ok?!” His hands rove over his body, making sure everything works. He cups Nolan’s face and forces eye contact. He’s delirious – confused, but conscious. Those electric blue eyes still had life in them. Gabe’s hands slide off his cheeks and shoots to Nolan’s wrists, who winces in pain. Burn marks blaze a train down his arms and snake under his shirt. Their eyes trace the path together.

Gabe’s mouths, “What the fuck?” His gaze flits back to Nolan, as if he could provide some sane explanation for this. He lifts Nolan’s shirt. What was once pale porcelain perfection is now a mess of molten skin. 

He rushes back to his phone and quickly dials 911, then dashes back to Nolan’s side.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

But when he lifts Nolan’s shirt again, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

They exchange astounded gazes, neither knowing exactly what to do.

“I-I’m sorry.” Click.

A moment of silence.

Nolan checks himself over, still flex-unflexing his hands and rotating his feet. He feels completely fine. The pain seemingly dissipated in the same moment as the welts. Suddenly, he feels the cool touch of Gabe’s fingers ghosting over the soft skin of his belly.

“You’re fine.” He drawls, entranced.

Nolan’s not sure what to do. At once, his hand sends a pleasurable chill webbing up his chest and across his back, but a grimy lump forms in his throat. He nods.

“I don’t know what the hell just happened. But I’m glad you’re ok.”

Gabe almost tears up. Warm relief spreads through his smile.

Distantly, Nolan hears Gabe’s phone ring, but he’s too busy collapsing in on himself to make use of it. Gabe’s crashing into his orbit, the grave pull mighty as a dying star. He can’t stop it. Just squeezes his eyes shut as his body goes taut. Gabe has him pinned beneath, nuzzling into Nolan’s neck.

“Fuck, I’m so glad you’re ok,” he breathes, moist and warm against him.

It isn’t until he feels the press of Gabe’s cock against his own that panic truly sets in.

“Answer your phone!” he shouts, sharper than he intends to show, “You can’t just hang up on 911.” He kicks him off, none too gently, and rolls for his shirt.  

Gabe snatches it away with a playful smirk as he presses the cell to his ear.

“Hello,” he lunges for it again, but just barely misses the sleeve, “Yeah. Sorry about that,” his bare skin collides with Gabe, who shoves him harshly back onto the bed, discarding the shirt haphazardly, “I thought somebody was breaking in. Turned out it was someone I knew,” again, Nolan finds himself pinned under Gabe’s weight, one hand pressing the phone to his cheek, the other pressing Nolan deep into the mattress.

He should scream. Knows that help is on the line, but he’s already conceded to fear. Immobilized. A possum splayed in the middle of the road.

“Yeah, sorry. Bye.”

The hand wraps around his neck, the pressure barely there, but Nolan’s own hands shoot to his. Pleading.

“Please don’t.” It’s a whimper. A choiceless gamble.

* * *

 

Theo vanishes as she turns around. Unsurprisingly. He comes and goes whenever he pleases, something like a lingering thunderstorm. His presence is never a good omen, and they have too much to deal with already. The perplexed look on his face tells her something else has caught his attention.

She not sure whether to take it as a relief or brace for the storm.

She is the eye. Wherever she goes, peace will follow.


	3. Dirty Paws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning

Liam is happiest outdoors.

His fondest memories come from the times he spent camping with his best friend, his best friend’s boyfriend, and, of course, his girlfriend. Eternal youth and adventure blossomed in those mountain passes. Dirt-packed boots, camo sunhats, and backpacks. They’d march a trail, through thickets and tall-grass, from dawn to dusk, until the woods of Longhills were their home away.

Fresh fire and cool nights. The cityless calm. A black sky with sparkling freckles.

Scary stories and itching bugs. The dread of the unknown. Lovely company to share the experience.

Liam can almost smell the forest still lingering on his skin. If – when – he gets out of this, he’s going to drag them back out there. It’s been too long.

Granted, he himself has some lingering resentment for those woods. Things he still hasn’t worked out yet. But he remembers how ladybugs used to crawl up his arms, how fireflies blinked with a thousand eyes, and he thinks it might be worth it.

Her gravestone is pretty high up the mountain side, somewhere it can look over the most popular campsites. She hasn’t seen him in a while. He figures he should finally grow a spine and go see her.

His life has never been easy, but at least before all this, it had been simple. Just a guy with some friends, both real and imaginary, and dreams, both achievable and unattainable. When it all gets too confusing, he thinks back to that night, just as freckled as any other.

A full moon peeked through the mountains. The crickets chirped a slow melody. Illuminated by mystic fire, Haden recounts her own version of Everyman Hybrid. Her audience captivated. Corey clung to Mason, who clung to Liam as they listened with twitching ears and earnest curiosity.

No fanfare before the pounce. No lingering unease or suspicious rustle of leaves. Death came silently.

Flashing Ivory teeth and midnight claws. Fur coated red with the roar of blood. The sheer force of snapping jaws crushed her throat in an instant before it tore out her trachea.

Only those who feel death breathing kindly in their ears know it’s voice. It speaks through them a wretched wail, one that bellows with the throes of every blood cell. Primordial terror.

She didn’t scream for long. By the time the boys spurred into action, she was already dead.

Blinded by rage, Liam full body tackled the beast as it jerked Hayden’s limp body. David fist fighting Goliath. All his strength was only barely enough to beat back the jaws of the beast.

Corey and Mason ignited heavenly swords with mystic fire, twin champions charging into battle.

It’s weird having the memory all to himself. By now, Theo would be next to him, giggling through his shrieks as the creature rips through his skin and clothes.

_We going through this again?_

How many times has he told Theo to screw off? He wanted to wallow in misery alone, but Theo worms his way in this place every time.

_Why are you even here?!_

_It’s entertaining! Look at this. It’s like, real-D. Way more immersive than television._

_She’s a real person. She died, Theo._

_She’s a character in your memory. She means absolutely nothing to me._

_What is wrong with you?_

He meant it as scathingly as delivered, but he was sure Theo wouldn’t be bothered. He’s callous and cruel and an enormous bastard. Always there when no one wants him. In the moment, alone with his past, Liam finds himself missing the company.

However, Liam is not the forgiving type.

The woman pins a square flap of skin to his back, and blots up the warm blood running down his side. Heavy chains wrap his wrists and ankles, his thighs, his stomach, and his neck. He’s breathing anesthetic and wolfsbane; it saps his strength, but does nothing to quell the rage or the pain or the sharp sense of wrong. She prods his raw muscle and he screams through the discomfort as she digs deeper. The smooth metal scrapes against his rib cage.  His fangs pierce his lips. His body thrashes against the restraints.

“Fascinating. You’re doing very well. It’ll be just a moment -”

Using all her strength, she presses against his resistance, plunging the scalpel closer and closer…

“Stop!” he cries.

“- longer.”

...until the tip punctures a lung. Then, she just leaves it there, protruding from his side.

She huffs a laugh. He’s healing right before her eyes.

“You are magnificent! Even in this weakened state, you recover from trauma at an accelerated rate.”

His muscle fibers stitch and weave together as skin races its replication across fasciae threads.  

“At this concentration, most other subjects exhibited an arrested healing factor. But you…!”

She lets the scalpel stay lodged in his body, gazes at the tiny spear with academic admiration.

“Are truly something special.”

And then, she jerks against the suction, but it holds fast. Liam snarls, snaps at her despite the muzzle and restraints.

“Leave it in! Stop!” he sobs, throat sore and voice weak. She graces him with pity, slightly shaking her head.

“For safety reasons, I hope you’ll understand. Bear with me just a little bit longer.”

It’s an agonizing eternity. Time latches on to him like hungry leeches.

Theo looks down on him with an unreadable expression. He kneels over him, gets bored of looking at him, and circumspects the room. A lot of the machines, he recognizes, but one in particular, a squat thing with spidering tubes, metal pipes, and a dizzying array of bells and whistles. His lips form a flatline and his chin rests atop his laced fingers.

“Having fun?”

Liam senses the accusation, but he can’t focus on Theo right now.

“I’m not going to help you. I could but…”

The scalpel is out now, and the woman busies herself cleaning it while Liam heals.

“That would be far too difficult,” he runs his fingers through Liam’s sweaty hair, but feels nothing. The metallic scent of blood, it’s warmness as it trickles and dries. The weight of the chains. Liam’s cramped back. And the phantom sting as the nerves continue to fire, Theo experiences it all. But, the locks between his fingers are only an imagination.

“Stop dragging me here. Let the others help you.”

Despair overwhelms Liam. Theo feels nothing at all.

Theo thumbs over the hair dusting Liam’s forearm. The pit of his stomach sinks into oblivion. All things vacate Liam’s brain, leaving him numb.

“I hate you.”

Theo’s lips ghost along the rim of Liam’s ear; his eyes gleam with an empty hunger and devour him right there, the mouse for the snake.

“Good.”

* * *

 

She’s not paying attention to him, like always, but that never bothers him. Theo rummages through a pencil pouch sitting on her bed and retrieves a large sharpie. The cap opens with a squeaky pop.

She remembers the room perfectly, but nothing about it seemed useful. It’s a custom-made armory with no windows and a heavily reinforced door. Most likely underground? But so what? That could be anywhere. The amount of preparation needed for this leads her to believe that she’s not working alone, possibly with an organization of some kind. She already has a list of everything Liam could see. If she assumes the woman is working alone, tracking those purchases would simplify things. If she’s not…

If only they could make out just two of those medicine bottles.

Her fingers support her forehead and her brows crease as she scans over her notes.

Theo scrawls, in surprisingly neat handwriting, a series of numbers on his forearm. Satisfied, the cap snaps shut and he carelessly discards the sharpie and leaves.

For three hours, Liam was unconscious and unvisitable. He could still be in-state, or all the way in Texas for all they knew.

“What am I missing?”

It feels like she’s banging against a steel vault in her brain. Like all the answers to all their questions were sealed within, and all she has to do is find the key. Something obvious, something plain and she’s missing it.

“Maybe we should just focus on Colorado for now? Then we could expand the search to a 400-mile radius from where he was taken.” Kira leans over her shoulder, glossy hair an obsidian waterfall.

“400 miles? That’s pretty frickin’ generous,” Stiles explodes, full of energy, yet clearly out of breath, and takes the other shoulder.

“So generous, in fact, we should only have to look in a 400-mile radius,” As Lydia rolls the words off her tongue, the realization dawns on her.

“Map!” Stiles shoves a red pen into his mouth and rolls across his room. Where a giant Force Awakens poster should be, an even larger print-out of Colorado hangs on his wall. He takes a black string and a ruler, loops the string around a red pin and measures out the distance.

“Even if whoever took him drove four hours going a hundred, that should more than be enough,” Stiles says, raises his hand for the high-five. “Nice catch.”

A proud smirk graces Kira’s face.

“Thanks.”

The added information does nothing to sate Lydia’s frustration.

“Hey, victory here? We’re one step closer to saving Liam’s ass,” Stiles presses, “All we gotta do is cross-reference the list with the inventory of every store within this,” and he gestures wildly at the circle, “area, match a customer to each purchase…,” the gears tick slowly in Stiles’ head, but eventually, “holy hell, I’d rather blow my brains out with a shotgun.”

Kira winces a huff. “The FBI will start asking questions again.”

“Yeah, well, as long as they don’t ask the right ones, we’ll be fine!”

Lydia’s mind wanders, as it does when she hears echoes of the dead. It’s not quite like the whispers of her friends. The dead are demanding, such needy creatures, and when they call out, the tethers of their voices rip her from sanity. They’re too loud and too quiet. Too many and not enough.

“Liam’s opening up again. We should visit.”

Too many at once. Something close. She catches shreds of phrases, fragments of words from the sea of voices, but the tides are too rough to swim against.

Lydia supinates her palm. Her eyes trace a path from the tips of her fingernails, down the satin skin of her forearm. Written, neatly in big block letters, a series of number glare back at her.

“Let me,” Lydia says vacantly, then with strengthened resolve, “I think I know what to look for.”

* * *

 

Fresh hot tears stream down Nolan’s cheeks as he collapses into himself. He screws his eyes shut as Gabe rolls his hips. Presses soft lips to Nolan’s neck, parted ever slightly, his breath a soothing, warm breeze in ear.

The sharp of Nolan’s canines pierce his lips, quieting the choked sobs and high-pitched moans that escape despite himself. Gabe’s forehead rests against the back of Nolan’s skull, and strong arms arrest Gabe’s chest to his back. Gabe’s large hands grip tightly to Nolan’s breast and the hardness of Nolan’s stomach as he plunges in deeply, in languid rolls and sharp thrusts.

“Please, stop.” It’s a small whimper, repeated every time, but the pleasured whine that follows betrays him. It feels so nice having someone so powerful surround him, taking him, making him feel so small. To know that he could be on his knees and violated thoroughly and without care to his own pleasure.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby. So fucking beautiful.”

His grip tightens, and follows up with a series of brutal punches and Nolan screams as his hand shoots to Gabe’s hips.

As good as it feels, he still doesn’t want it.

Eventually, the angle isn’t enough, and Gabe slings a leg around Nolan, fully atop him now and drinking up his perfection.

“I’m gonna tear you apart.”

The pace he sets, with his weight and body heat bearing down, it’s too much for Nolan. Gabe fucks him filthily, fierce strokes drilling him into the mattress and Nolan can’t contain himself. He wants it to end, but never wants it to stop. His body craves the attention and enjoys the use, but his mind flutters into oblivion where everything’s quiet and everything’s lonely.

Beyond the bed, he sees a friend standing over them. Watching. He thinks he might be hallucinating; it’s someone he’s met a long time ago. Someone he thought he would never see again.

Theo is cuter than Nolan remembers, and he’s definitely put on some muscle. An etching of a beard dots his jaw, and he towers with all the confidence Nolan wishes he had. The little demon that whispered to him all those years ago now looks down upon him, with a wicked smirk and bright halo.

Of all his imaginary friends he sent away, he didn’t think this one would come back first.

“You’re having way too much fun without me!” Theo ruffles his fingers in Gabe’s hair, “This one’s cute.”

It feels slick with sweat.

Gabe speeds up, spurred on by the touch.

“I could kill him if you want,” still playful, but Nolan senses the familiar darkness entrenched in everything he says.

Nolan struggles out a quivering, “No,” which cascades into a flurry of hitched yelps.

“Then, what? You just gonna let him fuck you like last night’s lasagna?”

He can’t answer. He’s not real.

He’s ascending, out of body. He can see the way Gabe flexes as he pulls out and slams back in. He can see his own pained reaction, the way his hair clumps and clings to his skin. Except, it’s not him anymore. He feels absolutely vacant, watching Theo enjoy himself as he gets pummeled into the mattress.

“Fuck, he’s good, Ngh! Shit.”

“Theo.” Nolan stands there, relishing in his vacancy. He’s not sure what to say, but he’s sure he should say something. A shallow happiness buries itself deep in the pit of his stomach. His lips twitch into a smile. 

“Wh-what?”

He’s back. He’s finally back.

“Thanks.”


	4. World's Waiting for You

This routine always trips him up. It’s a fast-paced song, and the beats are hard to keep up with. The footwork would be difficult on its own, but coupled with everything else, he has a hard time perfecting it. Still, he’s gotten pretty far. His footfalls against the wooden dance floor sound good to his own ears, and the way his body sweeps and twists and jumps closer and closer to the rhythm swells his chest with pride. A new meaning is carved into the fabric of the music.

Soon, sweat beads upon his brows and drenches his grey tank-top. He doesn’t stop until he inhales fire and blood and his muscles grieve and turn to jelly. He can hear his own ragged breath in his ears while his chest heaves. But with a flourish-finale, finely executed panache, he drinks in the moment after. The last thrash of uptown jazz chords echo off the walls and reverberate in his reverie.

He can do this. He’s not ready now, but he will be.

As hope swells and singes his lungs, the flutter of tiny voices lands on his ear. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing them away. They – not the voices, but other powers-that-be, have ways of knowing the unknowable. Ways of knowing he’s been fraternizing.

“ _I cope, smothered in smoke. Dehydrate my soul_.”

Ah, but the familiar voice sings to him regardless, coy in its persistence. A peculiar giddiness bubbles up sickly sweet, but Derek refuses to be infected. He’s been down that road before and it isn’t pretty.

“ _I know things that you don’t. I’ve met murderin’ folk_.”

He’s hunched over, still catching his breath, but the vorpal pull of a flying car sends his head spinning. Theo chauffers a middling passenger. A woman in her twenties too occupied with her phone conversation to notice the speed. It’s an innocuous, innocent thing, jamming to choice tunes, but Derek knows without a doubt this is punishment.   

“ _And they took one of our own. They took our innocent home.”_

 The way he sings, one might think he actually has a soul.

“Well that’s rude,” Theo says aloud and the passenger steals a glance, then away, figuring he must be on the phone, “we’re all just bags of meat and bones.”

They’re swept away with the current of a concrete sea. Asphalt streams twist and wind, and Theo pays little heed to the other fish swimming there. The orange glow of steel bioluminescence cuts through the murky depths; bright yellow eyes swoon unblinkingly.

Theo continues singing.

“Picture perfect victim, overwhelmed and so sadistic.”

The steel beast growls with increasing ferocity. There’s a sense of impending doom as Derek’s brain presses in the back of his skull. The sea is shifting too fast, but the woman seems wholly unaffected.

“I was looking for a purpose, what a chance you had some with you.”

Goading. It’s always like this with Theo, feint ignorance and sly provocation. The lust that seeps through his skin infects Derek with his want. Tries to corrupt him with Theo’s desires, and the primordial being of him rustles with interest.

“On the street when I forgot the city breathes when I do not. If I - ”

Theo glances over at Derek and gives him the brightest smile.

“ – leave, it does not stop here.”

The passenger enjoys herself, the sooth of Theo’s voice contrast with the adrenaline spikes his recklessness provides.

 _Is there any treason in the tricky little price I pay_?

“You’re going through with it, aren’t you?” the shift in tone and demeanor grabs her attention. In a moment he’s reserved, tactful, 

“Way too deep to stop now,” and the next, confident, arrogant, and shameless. It’s jarring. Her business partner on the line is saying something, but she misses it completely.

“What the hell, she doesn’t deserve this!” Desperate, quiet indignation.

“We live in an apathetic universe. You think it gives a shit? Neither do I.” Playful cruelty.

He keeps glancing in the passenger’s seat, sometimes fleetingly and sometimes not. As if something was there. Thoroughly spooked, the woman speaks up.

“Alright. You got me. I’m being played, that it?” Her first defense, warm friendliness. Diffuse; do not escalate.

“That’s bullshit.”

“That’s life.”

“Hey, are you _all right_? Could you pull over?” the woman says, discreetly punching in those three numbers.

“No. See. I’ve got this voice in my head and he’s trying to convince me not to _kill_ you right now. But he’s doing a rather shit job of it.”

Derek’s immense anger bear down on him and his gut twists with desire.

“Lucky for me, he’s not allowed to interfere or I’d be royally fucked,” he chuckles hysterically just thinking about all the things the meeker man could do if he had free reign. The others don’t know. He keeps them locked out well. But Theo, just having that connection, just talking with him like this, feels the immeasurable power just beneath the surface of that veneer.

Gas punched, the beast roars louder in his ears. Fish scatter in his wake, the poor unfortunate things trying to save their own souls.

“Slow down! Oh my god!” the woman screams. She abandons the call to the seat as she scrambles to unbuckle the belt. She’s jerking on the latch hysterically, but the door refuses to budge. Outside, beyond her careening prison, the world melts together, but she decides without a conflicting thought that she’d rather be a smear on the pavement than see where this river ends.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” his voice drips darkness and serenity and it paralyzes the woman with fear. “Erica Reyes. Cofounder and manager of Black Thunder. Entrepreneur, philanthropist, pill-pusher, murderer.”

Theo sees her expression in the rear-view, and offers a comforting smile.

“Hey, I’m not judging. They demand, you supply. It’s simply business. The problem is, _other_ people do. Some more harshly than others. So you’re going to die tonight.”

The face she wears. He loves it! Absolutely furious. The tears that pour from her eyes aren’t from sadness, but rather unbridled rage and impotency.

“But first. Do you know an Alan Deaton?”

Derek can’t watch this anymore. The rower keeps on rowing and he wants damn off. Theo, however, twines intricately with himself, fulfilling his deepest desires in ways that excite and ways that scare. By the time he extricates from Theo, he comes crashing into himself with a primal scream, as if his own life were ending on the dance floor.

Paige jumps as he snaps out of it; Mitch laughs because he totally warned her something like that might happen.

“Oh god, how much of that did you guys catch?” Derek winces, red-cheeked from embarrassment.

“Do we even want to know what your Cluster is up to?” Paige’s half-smile and the light touch of her hand on his thigh offer mild comfort for them both.

“It’s just Theo,” he grunts, getting back on his feet. “That should be answer enough.”

“I dunno. What you were sayin’ was pretty messed up. Sounded pretty serious.” Mitch stays folded on the floor while Paige holds Derek’s hands as she gets up.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Just sayin’ maybe you should consider -”

“Mitch.”

He throws his hands up, “Alright. Let’s dance,” and holds them there expectantly, until Paige grabs one hand, Derek the other, and they pull him up.

That, Derek could do. Let the moment seize his worries for another time. For now, he’s surrounded by his favorite people in the world, doing his favorite thing in the world. It’s enough for now.

“ _I always figured I’d be the one to die alone._ ”

-

Deep breath.

Let time slow on the exhale as the bow descends. Between now and the moment horse hair meets wired steel, the sun will have rounded the earth seven times, colonies of ants will have risen and fell, and the last dust of every great pyramid will have blown away. Last night’s newborn will have raised her great granddaughter before forfeiting her bones to a great oak tree.

At long last, they meet. And they cry for every sunlit horizon and lovers who have conceded their lives to each other.

Deep breath.

Let time slow on the inhale as the bow stretches her shoulders. It’s a fleeting sense of forever as she poses for her victim, taut and magnificent. Now, she’s silent beauty, but when she finally blinks and whispers, she would have told the history of the universe, that which she’s seen with her single unblinking eye.

It’s the same story. The world ends with you.

Allison feels her mortality on crawling on her back.

“Yikes,” Kira’s says, suddenly right beside her, “Do you need hot chocolate? I could whip up some spaghetti real quick. Do you prefer hard shell or tortilla?”

Allison pinches her nose, smuggling a laugh. It’s silly. Her mind drifts into the eventual heat death of the universe, something far beyond her time, and yet, something so simple brings hope.

“That sounds nice, actually.”

They toil in the kitchen, together. Allison mostly follows Kira’s lead, because while she’s good at most things, spaghetti tacos isn’t quite her forte. Besides, it’s nice to bask in the warmth of Kira’s presence, watch how she enjoys the little things.

“During the summer, my mom would have to take these long business trips to Japan. She left me and Dad to fend for ourselves,” Kira longingly stares at the sizzling pan of meat, Allison stirring occasionally, “Neither of us were very good cooks, but we made it work.”

Allison isn’t sure what to do with the information. It’s a great story. She’s happy Kira’s happy. But what does she say?

“I say all this because, you feel like everything is out of your control. We were thrust into this… situation without warning. Or direction… We’re all trying to figure it out. There’s always something we can do.”

Maybe. But can how can a speck of dust turn the world ‘round? That which is itself dust in the grand scale.

Maybe she’s looking too far. The world that matters is the world right here.

“Thank you. I needed this.”

They eat together in friendly company.

 Allison returns to practice in the family’s secret room. A room lined with guns and chains and mythic herbs. Stone padded and incredibly cold. In her focus, she doesn’t notice. The only thing that matters is the poise, the eye, and the end.

Once they find the address, she’ll have a hell of a lot of work to do.


	5. Tip-Tapping (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sdl;kjfa;lskjfa;lsdkjf;asdkjf;asdjf I'm silly. 
> 
> ANYWAY, had a lot more content but lost it while my laptop updated. Rather than delaying, I'm just going to post what I have and come at the chapter freshly. Lots of shit happened recently. Mostly good shit though.

Nolan’s aware he’s losing it.

A strange calm overwhelms him; he can’t bring himself to fight it. He sees Theo skulking through the corridors of his house, hood drawn and a fatal scowl upon his face. He’s always gone when Nolan rounds the corner, and the departure leaves him with a looming doom, as if Nolan could prevent a natural disaster with one simple word:

“Hey.”

Kala freezes at the end of the hall, hunched over a bowl of cornflakes. Milk drips from her spoon and the corner of her mouth.

“You tell Mom I was eating up here, I will end you.”

The garbled mess of soggy cereal dilutes the threat. With an ephemeral smile, Nolan digs his knuckles into his thighs. Bare feet. Carpet. Bright yellow Spongebob pajamas. In the moment, he’s the mischievous kid brother she remembers. Not the kind to run screaming through the halls bare-assed and mud-streaked. That was her. No, Nolan’s mischief was subtler. Always flew under Mom and Dad’s radar, but never hers. The kind to sneak cookies after bedtime, hide the keys before church, or pretend to be sick on days he didn’t want to go to school. He never got sick, ever.

Not physically, anyway.

“What are you up to? I know that look.”

“Nothing,” he gets that determined, vacant look, and refuses to stutter, “Go eat your damn cereal. _Down_ stairs.”

“How dare you,” Kala says while shoveling another spoonful into her mouth, “Are threatening me?” he’s definitely threatening her, while trying his damnest not to smirk, “Ok. Ok, you win. But I better not find anything out of place,” she calls as she descends the steps.”

He’s not up to anything.

He scrambles through every drawer in the master bathroom, looking for it. Not so quickly that his sister could hear the mania from below, but with a haste, still, that they would know someone’s been rummaging through. If this works out, the excuse would be self-evident. If it doesn’t, the excuse would be simple.

He finally finds it – an old-fashioned razor. Bismarck. Silver blade highlighted with gold accents and an ebony handle. A single item that encapsulates his dad, now that he thinks about it. An old soul. One entrenched in the zeitgeist of an era passed, but never so blind to the present that he misses it. Wonderfully antique. Pleasantly new.

The metaphor ends there. His dad is not a razor.

His dad is not cold steel pressed against his neck, could never be sharp enough to slice through his soft exterior. It’s not their fault he’s like this. A wimpering fragile mess, unable to cope, unable to make proper friends. It’s not their fault he’s weak and worthless. That he siphons the life from everyone around him.

His eyes sting red with unshed tears and his hand trembles. He can see himself clearly. All it takes is a firm pressure, a quick slice, and it will all be over. Like jumping off a tall cliff. The only thing that matters is the moment before. Everything after is just consequence.

“Here,” his voice is sultry and it’s thickly sweet. His presence is warmth and power and surrounds him in kind of intimacy that both terrifies and excites. “You’re holding it wrong.”

Nolan surrenders the blade to Theo without much fuss. Tilts his head for him. Exposes so much pretty skin, all his pretty playground.

“See this?” Theo says, dragging the sharp of the blade up protruding veins. Chill shivers course through him and his heartbeat quickens. “That’s the external jugular. Cut it and you’ll just make a mess of your bathroom you’ll regret cleaning up later. Now…” 

It’s a murderous press, but Nolan relaxes despite the scent of danger. His brain tingles but his breathing’s fine. Theo hears the even beating of his heart, and it only intensifies the urge.

“To get to the important stuff, you’ve got to dig _deeper_.” Theo rumbles like distant thunder within his ear. It excites Nolan, and he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed.

“Are you ready for that? You can’t turn back once you’ve gone.”

He’ll do it. Nolan knows this like he knows the sun will rise. All it takes is two words.

His big hands, only where they need to be. His attention, entirely on him.

A milk splattered smile. Her unwavering support.

A family awaiting their children’s smiling faces when they get home.

“I’m not,” he’s not going to cry, “I’m not. I’m not,” he’s so tired of crying, always crying, “I’m so fucking not.”

Theo lets him sob in his embrace, Nolan gripping his arm in desperation. The muscles coiling underneath could easily finish him, if they wanted. Their only restraint, his feeble words. But his feeble words, miraculously, were enough.

With absent, gentle scrapes against his cheek, Theo brushes away Nolan’s tears. He doesn’t have time for this, but he can’t pull himself away. Few things are important to him. All the other things he has to do today are much, much less so.

“You should learn how to use this properly. Got shaving cream?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows. Steady breath.

“Yeah, I think so,” but after a brief glance at himself in the mirror, “Why?”

Theo smiles.

“You’re growing whiskers,” he says, scritching Nolan’s jawline playfully, “and you never know. Sometimes you just gotta take care of yourself.”   

He mulls over the thought as Theo fusses over him. He knows this is just his own brain talking, saying things he needs to hear. It is, at once, pathetic and empowering. He’s coping badly, but he’s coping, and that’s all that matters right now.

They find the shaving cream only after dousing Nolan’s face in faucet water. His father keeps things nice and tidy; feeling around for the cannister was a mild inconvenience. Somehow, hearing Theo make fun of him made it slightly worth it.

Nolan, with the fresh excitement of an eager kid, applies the cream to his hands.

Theo, with the exultant focus of a disciplined protector, scrubs his cheeks, his nose, and his neck.

The razor glides over Nolan’s skin in long streaks and short strokes. He has no control, surrendered it all to Theo, but in return, Theo showers him with attention and his low, gravelly voice sends pleasant chills throughout his body.

The thumb on his jaw.  

Soothing instructions dripping across his skin.  

“I’m so messed up. God, I wish you were real.”

Sweet, enticing.

“I _am_ real. We all are.”

Kala didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but what’s done is done. Concern rooted her to the spot. She thought, she really thought the therapy was helping, but the voices have returned. Maybe they never truly left. Gloom clung to him like old flesh; rarely ever did scars of happiness mar his skin. But that was just Nolan, a somber kid with a fragile disposition, not a literal schizophrenic.

She doesn’t stay for the rest of the conversation. She holes herself in the farthest reaches of her dark closet and stares at her phone screen a moment.

Does she need to?

Maybe she should talk with Monroe first. Figure out what she should do before involving them.

He’s not the most cheerful brother anyone could hope for, but she still wants him back. 


End file.
